


Facets and Reflections

by TheDVirus



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assassination Plot(s), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Drabble, Enemies, Frenemies, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Illnesses, Power Dynamics, Slice of Life, conflicted feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21620689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: A collection of various Dark Crystal ficlets focusing on the SkeksisIf you would like one, drop me an ask on Tumblr; @thedeevirus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	1. Armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the Emperor's dismissal of his Podling servants, SkekSil steps up to help his Emperor dress.

The Emperor’s request for someone to help him dress now made complete sense to SkekSil.

SkekSo had made the announcement the day before, having been affronted by his newest Podling slave that morning. It had been unceremoniously dismissed from service (and from the bed chamber’s balcony) for its suicidal insolence. This left the prestigious position open and yet, for some reason, the remaining Podlings were unenthusiastic about filling it.

SkekSil had volunteered for the position immediately, ensuring every Skeksis witnessed his altruism. He endured their vindictive surprise, snide mockery and amusement at his acceptance of such a menial task. As always, they were simply too short sighted to see the big picture.  
What better way to strengthen his position in the Emperor’s good graces?

But now, the Podling’s gasp of disgust that had reportedly sealed its fate seemed to SkekSil more of an underreaction. 

SkekSil wrinkled his nose as he syringed yet another boil. He was careful not to breathe in the miniscule, wisp like purple particles rising from it like dust in sunlight as he emptied the syringe into a waiting flask. The ‘sample’ would be delivered to SkekTek once the Emperor left his quarters. The tools SkekSil was using to collect them were of the Scientist’s own design as were the numerous ointments and unguents lined up neatly on a rack beside them.  
SkekSil put the syringe down and selected the first jar. He popped it open and applied the contents to the Emperor’s back. SkekSo gave no sign of any pain even as the oily perfume was slathered onto his various lesions and weeping wounds. It was necessary to disguise the stench of rot that clung to them.

As SkekSil leant down for a better angle, the boil (despite just having been syringed) suddenly vindictively exploded. Milky liquid smacked under his eye, blinding him. There was a smell of stagnant water.  
SkekSil bit back a surprised squawk of disgust, fearful the Emperor would take umbrage. He risked a check of the Emperor’s face. Thankfully (and insultingly) the Emperor seemed unconcerned. He was lacing up his gloves, attention focused on the sheen of each tiny pearl bedecking the fabric.  
SkekSil hastily wiped the disgusting ooze away with his handkerchief. Resuming his task, he swallowed hard to conquer the bile rising in his throat. As the Emperor nodded approvingly at his gloves, SkekSil wondered once again if his latest attempt to claw more power for himself had been worth such indignity. 

He also wondered if the fruit of the Emperor’s experiments were worth suffering such foulness.

That was another of SkekSil’s little secrets. He knew all about the Emperor’s fascination with the ‘non existent’ Darkening.  
It delighted him to no end that he alone knew the answer to the question that caused SkekTek no end of sleepless nights; Why was the Emperor weakening faster than the rest of the Skeksis?  
SkekSil was intrigued by the power the Darkening offered but, as it usually did, self-preservation outweighed his curiosity. Aside from the grotesque physical side effects, SkekSil was also unwilling to face the Emperor’s wrath should he realise someone was privy to his secret.

SkekSil completed applying the unguents and laced up the Emperor’s robe. Once his first layer of garments were secure, the Emperor rose. He swayed slightly with the effort but declined SkekSil’s offered hand with a swift slap. He lifted his arms enabling SkekSil to help him into his overcoat and cape. SkekSil then moved behind him with the back carapace and waited while SkekSo’s secondary arms threaded themselves through the waiting holes.  
Not for the first time that morning, SkekSil’s gaze was drawn to the wicked looking curved knife nestled in the middle of the other tools on the table nearby. 

One ‘tragic accident’ and there would be a new Emperor.

Perhaps he could blame SkekTek, the owner of the tools? The scientist was already in disfavour and was no doubt still licking his wound following his appointment with the Peeper Beetle. But that also placed him in his lab, secluded and sequestered until the essence draining machinery had been repaired.

Perhaps blame a Gelfling? The traitor Rian? Or the captive Gurjin?  
No, that was ridiculous. It would plunge the castle into disarray if word got out that the Emperor could be felled by such a weak creature.

No matter who SkekSil named as the culprit, there would be questions. Challenges. A mad scramble for the throne.  
And even if SkekSil miraculously saw off all pretenders, what would stop the others from seeking revenge when (not if) the truth of SkekSo’s demise came to light? The challengers would declare it was for revenge of course. How they would beat their chests and mourn their beloved Emperor SkekSo! But SkekSil and every Skeksis would know the truth.  
The truth was SkekSil was not popular at court and some, such as SkekUng and SkekVar, would jump at any excuse to silence him forever.  
But…would they kill him? Could they bring themselves to?  
Skeksis did not kill Skeksis.  
But the very Emperor who had created the decree would be dead. The ‘unbreakable’ decree would be broken and SkekSil would have signed his own death warrant.  
Setting such a dangerous precedent was not worth the risk.

SkekSil picked up the Emperor’s headpiece from its customary resting place on a sculpt of SkekSo’s head. The Emperor began to straighten his back. SkekSil’s eye twitched at the audible creaking of the protesting bones in the Emperor’s spine. Once the Emperor had negotiated his body to stand at full height, SkekSil reached up and placed the headpiece on SkekSo’s head.  
He adjusted it, ensuring it stood straight and couldn’t help but notice how the Emperor stood taller than him. Even SkekSil’s withered heart felt a touch of pity at how far the Emperor had physically declined since the beginning. SkekSo had once triumphed in every test of strength and his voice could have towered above a crowd. And yet, mentally he remained unchallenged. If he could inflict such harm upon his own body without batting an eye, what could he do to his enemies?

Yes, perhaps it was better to be the power behind the throne for now, More room to manoeuvre.

Lowering his head to button the Emperor’s collar, the final task, he gave a start as he realised the Emperor was staring at him. The pale eyes, like chipped ice, regarded him with something akin to amusement.

‘We both know you won’t do it’, he said.

Chamberlain’s eyes dropped. He felt cold sweat begin to drip under his own neck ruff.

‘Apologies my Emperor’, SkekSil wheedled, ‘Such beautiful buttons but so awkward’.

‘Silence’, SkekSo said impatiently, ‘You know what I’m talking about’.

‘Forgive most noble sire but I don’t-‘

‘I said “Silence”!’ the Emperor bellowed.

Chamberlain flinched, lowering his head submissively and wringing his hands contritely as the Emperor continued his tirade.

‘Do not play your pathetic games with me! I see the hunger in your eyes. The thought that one swift strike to my back would be the end of me!’

SkekSil’s eyes widened but before he could protest his innocence, SkekSo had seized him by the neck. SkekSil choked, surprised by the strength of the Emperor’s grip. He struggled to control his breathing, eyes watering. SkekSo leant forward and his snarling visage filled SkekSil’s blurred vision.

‘Not even the respect to look me in the eyes when you did it!’ SkekSo snarled, spittle flying from his yellowed teeth, ‘Tell me SkekSil, would you wait for my body to cool before snatching the sceptre from my talons?!’

‘Never! Never your majesty!’ SkekSil coughed desperately, ‘You are mistaken! Please! Me-mercy!’

The Emperor considered for a moment then abruptly released the Chamberlain.

‘Perhaps you’re right’, SkekSo mused, all signs of murderous anger gone.

SkekSil gratefully sucked in great mouthfuls of air. The Emperor watched him struggle dispassionately.

‘You would not dare’, he said as if thinking aloud, ‘Such honesty is beyond you. You would have to own your actions and accept the consequences. And that is something you can never do. It is something an Emperor must do’.

‘But-but if venerable Emperor suspects such unthinkable treachery then why allow-‘

‘You to serve me so intimately? Many of the others have asked the same. But your question I will answer’.  
The Emperor’s beak curled into a cruel smile.  
‘Because you, Chamberlain, are the most predictable creature in this castle. You can always be trusted to preserve your own skin above all else. Should you wish for it to remain on your bones, be content with your lot. Some of the others are not’.

Chamberlain’s blood boiled at the truth in the Emperor’s venomous words even as he was forced to accept them. He pushed the anger down, like sheathing a dagger for later use and plastered his usual simpering smile on his face.

‘Only fools would dare oppose or plot against the benevolent SkekSo. I only wish to serve. As I always have’.

He bowed low, beak practically touching his knees. The Emperor gave a low chuckle.

‘And you always will’, he said coldly.

SkekSil rose and SkekSo waved a hand in dismissal.

SkekSil once more lowered his eyes and spread his arms, stepping backwards out of the bedchamber as decorum demanded.  
Closing the door, he touched the indentations the Emperor’s claws had left in his wrinkled neck flesh. His fingertips came away wet from where they had pricked him.  
SkekSil glared at the soiled bandages still in his hand, leaking with vile ichor he had dabbed from the Emperor’s body.

‘Ungrateful spit head’, he muttered, casting the rags out of the nearest window.

He froze as he heard a rasping noise. His heart hammered as he braced himself for the Emperor’s onslaught and cursed his foolishness for thinking he would not be heard through the door.  
But an attack never came.  
Turning around, SkekSil laid his head against the door. He could hear a thin, wheezing noise from inside.

Carefully creeping to the left side of the door, SkekSil lifted the corner of a decorative tapestry on the wall. A small hole was revealed.  
Pressing his eye to the hole he had carefully carved into the wall, he peered into the Emperor’s bedchamber.

The Emperor was sitting on his bed, back hunched as he trembled. His breathing was hoarse and laboured. His eyes were closed, no doubt in an attempt to wrest his body back under control. His face was tight and pale, mouth slack as he dribbled.  
But what SkekSil noticed most of all were the Emperor’s hands.  
Both clutched his sceptre, the skin on the bony knuckles pale and tense from the strength of his grip.

‘Yes my Emperor’, SkekSil purred to himself, grinning, ‘Chamberlain will serve. For now’.


	2. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SkekOk and his counterpart UrAc have an arrangement after bumping into each other during SkekOk’s newly assigned duty of keeping tabs on the Mystics following SkekGra’s disgrace and the Hunter’s refusal of such a tedious task.  
Information for information.  
But can such an arrangement work when they're each other's own worst enemy?

‘It's about time’, SkekOk snapped. 'We agreed to meet when the Second Brother reached its peak!'

UrAc did not answer.  
Instead he offered the Skeksis the pile of papers he had carried carefully from the Valley of Stones to the usual meeting place. SkekOk seized them and waved a hand at the chest he had brought for UrAc in exchange as per their arrangement. 

UrAc opened the grotesquely bejewelled casket and lifted the fine vellum parchment out (stained with wine and various food stuffs).  
He read the first page, brow furrowing at the numerous scribbles and hasty corrections. The Skeksis penchant for political alliances and backstabbing could be mildly amusing but mostly frustrating. Especially when each strategic move was so short lived. On the first page alone while documenting a minor verbal squabble in the throne room, SkekOk had evidently changed his mind three times about who was to blame for starting it. No doubt influenced by whichever Skeksis had been reading over his shoulder at the time.  
UrAc flipped through the pages documenting meaningless court politics and found what he was looking for. 

SkekOk shook his head in bafflement at the Mystic’s disinterest in his stimulating viewpoint of life at court in favour of random observations SkekOk had noted while looking through the telescope at the top of the castle. True, that was all the Mystic had requested as part of their information exchange arrangement but SkekOk felt bird flight patterns and phases of the moons paled in comparison to the daily mental victories SkekOk won over his fellows.  
Wondering why he had even bothered trying to elevate a Mystic’s documented non-existent sense of adventure, SkekOk instead turned his attention to the records he had requested. A complete list of any injuries, illnesses or frailties afflicting the other Mystics. A blueprint for any rival’s undoing.  
The first page was promising. The Healer had suffered a broken leg with no given cause so SkekUng had likely been injured on his travels away from the castle. SkekOk smirked. The mighty, indomitable SkekUng could do with being taken down a peg or two.  
But as he turned the page, excitement turned to annoyance.

‘You must file these better! I cannot have an incomplete record! It is more than my life is worth to have gaps!’

‘Or to record the truth it seems’, UrAc said but he knew SkekOk was not listening.

He was more concerned with furiously flipping through UrAc’s records, clicking his tongue critically.

‘Obtuse! Random!’ 

SkekOk scoffed at one particular page and held it up so UrAc could see it.  
UrAc obligingly examined the detailed drawing he had made of a large tree during a period of introspection. He was proud of it though he felt he had no talent for aesthetics. The drawing was actually formed entirely of miniscule words that documented how such a tree’s bark could ease pain in the joints. The reader was supposed to begin reading from the tree’s roots and into the higher branches, towards the Three Brothers.  
The artistic conceit was evidently lost on SkekOk.

‘Useless idling!’ SkekOK snapped, casting it to the ground.

The Mystic carefully retrieved it, rolled it up and tucked it into his satchel. 

‘Perhaps instead of wasting time on such frivolities, you should spend some time keeping an eye on SkekGra’s counterpart, whatever their name is’.

‘UrGoh, the Wanderer’, UrAc said, bracing himself for the inevitable, lengthy gossip that his counterpart always delighted in sharing.  
UrAc did not understand why the Skeksis felt the need for such tedium when it would undoubtedly be in his records. So limiting to see words only as weapons.

‘It seems the Conqueror’s long absence was actually due to some kind of brain fever’, SkekOk said in a strange tone of affected regret, ‘He burst into the castle ranting and raving about all kinds of nonsense. Personally, I thought SkekTek’s treatment of trepanning him was showing some improvement before the Emperor lost patience, branded him ‘heretic’ and banished him’.

SkekOk paused, as if awaiting a comment. UrAc complied with a thoughtful ‘hmm’ as he continued reading.

‘Entirely necessary of course’, SkekOk continued, nodding sagely, ‘He was prattling on about how Skeksis should rejoin with Mystic. Can you imagine?!’

UrAc’s head ached at the shrill scandalised delight in the Skeksis’ voice.

‘Don’t have to’, he said, ‘UrGoh is also no longer with us’.

SkekOk’s eyes widened as he burst into a cackle. UrAc endured it stonily. 

There had been no other choice. UrGoh’s increasingly erratic energy and consuming regret of what had been lost had interfered with the Mystics’ spiritual energies, confusing their dreams and muddying their meditations. The whole point of UrAc’s meetings with his counterpart was (unknown to the Skeksis) to confirm the signs of prophecy that the Master, UrSu, saw in dreams. What the Skeksis dismissed as simple migration patterns or unusual seasonal weather unworthy of time or notice was Thra reaching out to any who knew how to listen. The Mystics now knew another Great Conjunction would come. Their chance to set things right. What they did not know was when. And UrGoh’s disharmony while amongst them had created obstacles to the answer that they could not afford to allow. 

‘Oh ho! How delightful to see how cold hearted you are! How ruthless to banish one of your own!’

‘UrGoh and SkekGra’s wishful, arrogant thinking is the exact flaw that caused this situation’.

‘At least we can both agree that unity is a fool’s hope’.

‘We do not disagree with the goal’, UrAc said, careful not to take any selfish delight in the smile slipping from SkekOk’s face, ‘Only their plans to hasten it’.

‘Implying you have some sordid plan of your own?’ SkekOk challenged.

‘Scheming is the Skeksis way’, UrAc said simply.

SkekOk tossed his head, feeling foolish. Of course the Mystics didn’t have plans. Such complexities were above their slow witted brains. It seemed sometimes that they would find any excuse not to act. To sit for hours on end stacking stones or considering their own reflections in water.  
To cover up his foolishness, SkekOk snidely remarked, ‘And yet you go behind your fellows’ back to converse with me? Perhaps they would banish _you_ if they realised…’

He trailed off, suddenly realising the same could be said of him. Judging from UrAc’s slightly raised, amused brow, he did too.  
SkekOk returned to the original topic.

‘Where did you last see the Wanderer?’

‘The two spend their days idling in the crystal desert, gorging themselves on urdrupe berries’.

‘Together?’ 

The subtle, bemused twist to UrAc’s lip perfectly reflected SkekOk’s own feelings at this latest revelation. 

‘SkekGra always was partial to those berries. I’m sure they’ll be perfectly miserable together’.

UrAc made a low rumbling noise in his throat. SkekOk was not familiar enough with Mystic vocalisations to recognise it as the low chuckle it was.

‘Miserable?’ UrAc repeated.

‘Do you like looking at _me_ ?’ SkekOk asked, ‘Well?!’

UrAc did not answer, placing SkekOk’s records back in the chest.

‘Hmph. I assure you the feeling is mutual’.

‘Your record is incomplete’, UrAc said.

‘Impossible’.

‘There is no record of this’.

The Mystic revealed his right wrist.  
SkekOk’s eye twitched at the talon marks and his hand threatened to stray to his own injured wrist hidden by the ruff of his robe.  
He licked his lips, sensing the Mystic’s unspoken request for an explanation. 

‘The Emperor took offence to the sound of my quill scratching while he was talking. Recording such a minor incident was pointless’.

‘You want a complete record’.

‘Not of mistakes!’

‘_We_ are a mistake’.

‘The one mistake I can live with’, SkekOk said spitefully, ‘Despite myself it seems’.

‘Not forever’.

‘Words last forever’, SkekOk said simply, ‘Skeksis will live forever’.

‘Not as a Skeksis. Not as a Mystic’.

SkekOk threw back his head and laughed, loud and long. Then he lowered it and advanced on the Mystic until his beak was barely an inch away from the long, doleful head of his counterpart. It was pathetic how physically close the Mystic allowed him to be. No Skeksis would have tolerated such a blatant disregard for etiquette. 

‘I thought you said mindgames are the Skeksis way?’ SkekOk jeered, ‘You certainly aren’t very good at them. You can’t intimidate me with such an empty threat! I know for a fact there is no power on this planet that could reunite us!’

The Mystic shook his head ruefully.

‘No. There is not’.

SkekOk blinked in confusion at the contradiction as well as the sad look on the Mystic’s face. He tossed his head, sneering. Mystics were never quite all in the present moment. The illogical argument was probably just to distract SkekOk from the fact he had just seen through his counterpart’s pitiful attempt at a mindgame.

‘When the time comes, you do not need to be afraid’, UrAc said quietly.

The comforting undertone to the words was the biggest insult SkekOk had been dealt in a long time.

‘Y-you think we fear you?!’ SkekOk spluttered, ‘Disdain you? Yes. Despise you? Yes. But we do not fear you. You are simply ugly reminders of what we have overcome!’

He snapped his beak shut causing the last set of glasses perched on his beak to fall off.

Snarling impatiently, he began the difficult process of negotiating his body into a kneeling position to retrieve them. Only to have the Mystic offer them to him. By simple advantage of being closer to the ground, he had caught the glasses as they had fallen.  
SkekOk hastily replaced them on his beak, his carefully cultivated paranoia screaming at him to regain the advantage despite the Mystics’ known pacifism. 

‘They don’t help as much as they should’, Ur Ac said, offering a vial, ‘Use this’.

‘I do not need your pity!’ SkekOK snapped.

‘Pragmatism’, UrAc corrected.

SkekOk greedily eyed the bottle, his knowledge of the Mystic’s legendarily effective healing powers warring with his pride. It was true that his vision was getting worse and he didn’t dare seek help from SkekTek. If he did, then word would reach the Emperor about his failure and what good was a scroll keeper who couldn’t see?!  
Glancing at UrAc, he noticed the Mystic had turned his head away, as if in consideration of SkekOk’s feelings. SkekOk’s blood boiled at the indignity and the vanity of the Mystic in thinking SkekOk needed anything from him!  
But when he failed himself, he failed the Emperor and when he failed the Emperor-  
Swallowing his pride, SkekOk desperately snatched the vial and hid it within the depths of his robes.  
Out of sight, out of mind.  
Skekok winced as a sudden, unpleasant popping sensation in his hands broke through the rising dread and shame.

UrAc was cracking his wizened knuckles. 

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that!’ SkekOk snapped, wringing his gnarled, clawed fingers.

Reaching into his robes, he withdrew a quill pen of his own design. Longer than those typically used by Gelflings, he had cushioned it with silk to allow for easier grip.  
He thrust it at the Mystic. Even as he mused on how Mystics could be so infuriatingly primitive, SkekOk felt a smug smile creep across his face at the fascination on UrAc’s face as he regarded the pen.

‘Take it for Thra’s sake! You write too slowly and too late at night. Just once I’d like to wake up without my talons creaking’.

As the Mystic accepted the pen in both hands, ponderously turning it so the crystals set into the nib caught the sunset, SkekOk spun on his heel.

‘Now I must return to the castle before I’m missed’.

He began to walk back to his carriage, ignoring the nagging sensation growing in his chest. It would pass. It always did.  
According to SkekOk’s research, lower creatures often made reference to such a pain when in emotional distress.  
But SkekOk was not in emotional distress!  
He couldn’t wait to get as far away from UrAc as possible!

Fighting the compulsion to look back, to see if the Mystic was following, he entered his carriage. The same nonsensical reflex always followed the initial aches. He slammed the door and reached for the lever to trigger the return trip to the Castle.  
And saw UrAc watching him from the corner of his eye. 

He couldn’t help but return the Mystic’s steady gaze. There was an odd feeling of displacement, as if he were falling, staring into a vast chasm. Being swallowed whole absorbed by something vast, peaceful and empty, vanishing into oblivion. 

For a split second, SkekOk thought UrAc’s foot moved towards him and his heart thundered in his sunken chest. SkekOk gasped, awed and terrified at the sudden, choking onslaught of emotion. 

But the Mystic was simply turning away, vanishing back into the long grass. To begin the long journey back to his own kind.

SkekOk wiped at his watering eyes and cursed the glare of the sunset as he yanked the lever. The armaligs, startled by the sudden rough treatment by the usually patient scroll keeper, sped away.  
SkekOk leant back in his seat and inhaled deeply, thinking of his waiting sanctuary of his books and papers to calm himself.  
He felt a weight against his chest and withdrew the object from his robes. The milky looking eye balm shone in the ruddy light of the sunset.  
In a sudden fit of sheer fury, spite and something that felt like that long forgotten emotion SkekOk had once known as grief, he threw it on the carriage floor.  
Every one of the resulting hundred twinkling pieces cast his own face back at him.


End file.
